If northern Florida wasn't interesting enough in its own time travel way, these springs are perfect. It's a surreal place to swim among the Spanish moss while the alligators patrol out in the warmer river that the springs flow into (the big toothy grins don't like the cooler water).

Bir Ali, Yemen

Yemen never makes it onto the glossy Caribbean style travel brochures, but the emerald green of the Arabian Sea is a mighty match for hurricane alley. Just outside the town of Bir Ali you can camp on a deserted white sandy beach that seems to extend all the way down to Aden. Behind you the sands of the beach meet and mingle with those of the desert on the vol…

Last night's Minaret exhibit was not only a chance to share some photos that I've taken on my travels but an opportunity to retrieve and relive some dusty memories that had been lying forgotten in my 1.0 memory chip mind.

During the evening, a few astute visitors were quick to notice an early Soviet-era statue that features prominently in one of the photographs, thus refreshing my memory in regards to one of my favourite emblems in Baku, Azerbaijan.

While living in the city, my wife and I lived just off Nizami square/Metro stop in the infamous 'Beysh Barmak'. Baku's first 5-story building (thus the name) that was stodgily yet sturdily built during the years of Russian rule. The window panes hadn't been changed since the 5 year plans, allowing the winter wind free access to the flat, but it was a handy address that every taxi driver knew...especially given the fact that I speak no Azeri or Russian, no matter how much vodka I drank.

A successful Chinese Buddhist businesswoman who professes her devotion to a 15th century crucifixtion figure gives birth to a Nestorian satori in my first piece blogging for El Pais. Of course, all framed within the slightly morbid context of the celebration here on the decidedly european Iberian peninsula of a man's death by torture so many years ago.

About Me

Adrift for many years, washed up on the steppe of Spain, far from the coast and just far enough away from anywhere.
Before setting up camp in the small flaking white house I had traveled through 5 continents and lived on 3 of them. First crossing the Americas and Europe countless times as an itinerant musician and using my downtime for in-depth explorations of the time-machine that is northern Florida. From there to Madrid's tapas bars and the medina in Fez. Later I perfected my Khat chewing technique in the Yemeni capital Sana'a during the first years of the most recent Gulf War. Next stop was the shores of the oily Caspian, admiring the west's hypocrisy close up in their 'democratic' thugpost in Baku. After a stop in Iran long enough to realize that it isn't everything they tell you, I opted for the smiles that grace you on the streets of Vientiane, Laos and the sheer pleasure of a cold Beerlao on the banks of the Mekong. A brief stop in Tripoli and now drive west of Madrid, through the dehesas of holm oak trees just far enough to think you are in Portugal and you will find the house.